


Confessions and Promises

by Corvidology



Category: The Three Musketeers (2011 Anderson)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Dancing, M/M, Mission Fic, Misunderstandings, Pining, Post-Canon, Yuletide 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28143945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvidology/pseuds/Corvidology
Summary: Written for Yuletide 2020.Aramis had never planned on seeing him again.
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay/Athos | Comte de la Fère, Aramis/Athos
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Confessions and Promises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



He'd entered the inn on the edge of Paris an hour earlier than the agreed upon time, wanting to get a good look at the Comte de la Fère before having to introduce himself. 

"Aramis!" Porthos jumped up from a table and lifted him off the ground with the force of his greeting. 

"It's good to see you, Porthos." He meant it. 

It had been five years though Porthos looked much the same. Porthos put him down and slung an arm across his shoulders guiding him back to his table and ordering another jug of wine. He had no objections. What better way to spend an hour than in the company of an old friend?

They'd raised a glass to each other already when Athos sat down across from him. They stared at each other in what would have been an awkward silence if the inn's denizens hadn't been so raucous. Athos poured himself a drink and drained it. 

"Aramis."

"Athos." He couldn't say he was glad to see him. 

"Porthos." 

They both turned to stare at Porthos. 

"What? It sounded like you were stating your names for the record rather than being glad to see an old friend. Porthos raised his glass and they slowly followed suit. "All for one..."

"And one for all." They drained their glasses. 

Luckily, Porthos had always been skilled at holding a one man conversation. As he told tales of the Musketeers exploits since last they'd seen him, he watched Athos apparently enraptured with Porthos's tales. His all black outfit suited him as it always had. He seemed a little leaner which just made him look taller but at six foot three he was already tall enough. His hair was longer and now greying at the temples and the laugh lines around his eyes were deeper but he was still the most— 

Athos was now staring back at him which was just embarrassing. 

He stood up. "Excuse me but I must find a table of my own as I'm here to meet someone."

"Who?" Porthos looked disappointed.

"If Aramis doesn't want to say..." Athos just looked amused, damn him. 

"The Comte de la Fère." He shouldn't have said anything but Athos could always get under his skin. 

Porthos burst out laughing, gesturing at Athos. "Aramis, may I introduce you to the Comte?"

"Very funny, Porthos." Porthos just kept pointing. "...But you never had a sou to your name." 

"No one said I was a good comte." Athos was staring at him again. "So you're the Pope's agent? Why does that not surprise me? I heard you'd gone to Rome."

Porthos grabbed the empty jug. "As we're all who we're supposed to be and where we're supposed to be I need to piss. I'll be back with more wine."

"Did you join the priesthood again?" Athos kicked his feet up on the table. 

He straightened his doublet which didn't need straightening. "Do I look like I did?"

Athos gestured at the cross still hung around his neck. 

"No. Not yet at least." He'd intended to but the Vatican found him more useful as a civilian.

"Let's be thankful for small mercies." Athos tipped his glass to him. "Memory tells me I can work with that."

He itched to punch the smirk right off Athos's face but he was here on a mission and a mission there would be. He waited for Porthos to settle and pour them more wine. 

"What did they tell you?"

"That we're supposed to retrieve some more of da Vinci's work. Something, blah, blah, something, blah, war machines. I stopped listening once it was made clear we're to retrieve plans. We just don't know where from. We were told the Pope's agent would fill us in on what we need to know." Athos took a drink. "The question is why the Pope's agent has to be involved?"

"The Vatican believes the plans are with a book that may also contain evidence— theories of a sacrilegious nature."

"And you're to destroy it?"

"Those are my orders."

"Your orders stink." Athos spat on the floor. 

"I didn't say I was going to follow them... exactly. If such a book does exist it will be 'destroyed' and yet still find itself into the hands of a Jesuit scholar in Milan. But the less said about that the better."

"Who has the book?"

"Sceaux. Have you met him at court?"

"Mean little upstart who got his title by buying land outside the town?" 

"That's him. He's built himself a grand château for his new wife. They're getting married in two weeks and you're my way into the party."

"I don't think Musketeers will be on the guest list." Athos scratched his chin. 

"No, but the Comte de la Fère will be. Sceaux wants very much to develop friendships with hereditary gentry."

*

"You want me to what?"

"It shouldn't be this difficult to understand, Athos. Move your left leg over a bit more and arch your back. Isn't that better?"

"No!"

"You never could take orders." He was tired and yelling at Athos wasn't getting him anywhere. "Think of it like a swordfight. You're reasonably good at those as I recall."

Athos's glare could have stripped plaster. 

"All right, let's try this again." He extended his hand and Athos did his best to crush it with his. 

He stared him down until his grip loosened. 

"Now step to your side – no, towards me – and step away again. That's right, only try not to yank my arm out of its socket while you're doing it. Now turn and bow towards me, no, let go of my hand first."

Athos tugged him forward until he fell against his chest, his arms coming up across his back. He pushed back and Athos let him go but kept hold of his hand. 

"You can't do that to a lady."

"I didn't." Athos started pulling him slowly forward again by his hand. 

"Haven't you taught the big oaf to dance yet?" Porthos had wandered back into the room with another jug full of wine miraculously in his hand. Perhaps he was in league with Pan.

Athos let go of him so abruptly he almost staggered. "The 'big oaf' doesn't see the need to learn. As if you could do any better."

Porthos put down the wine jug and moved forward, elbowing Athos out of the way and taking Aramis's hand before bowing to him in a very stately fashion. For a big man, he was incredibly light on his feet, matching Aramis step for step before bowing again. 

Athos was leaning against the fireplace, drinking straight from the jug. "You should take Porthos instead. I'll take over his part in insuring our safe exit with the plans."

He had a headache and Athos's name was written all over it as he'd fought him every step of the way. "Again, Sceaux's been to court several times. What if someone pointed out the Comte de la Fère to him? Why would you rather fight a dozen men then take one lady by the hand in a dance?"

"Because I learned the hard way I'll never know what's in her other hand." 

And whose fault was that? "Porthos, you try and teach him a few steps. I'm finished with him."

A tub full of hot water set by the fire in his room and his own jug of wine had him feeling better. He'd been finished with Athos five years before when he'd left Paris in a hurry not sure where he'd end up next. He should have known his luck couldn't hold. 

"Aramis!" His room door slammed open as Athos barged in and then slammed it behind him. "Is this some sort of joke?"

Speak of the devil. He turned from the fire to look at Athos over the back of the tub. It was well worth the turn. He'd never before seen Athos dressed as anything but a soldier but he was resplendent in a linen shirt, fine silk blue doublet, knee breeches, hose and shoes, a short cape dangling from his broad shoulders. Still a handsome bastard. 

"Where's your hat?"

"If you think I'm wearing that buckled monstrosity—"

"Calm down, Athos. We'll just have to do something with your hair." 

He reached for the sheet draped over the stool by the tub and stood up, tucking it around himself at the waist as the water sluiced off him. It wasn't like Athos hadn't seen him naked before. 

He pulled a blue ribbon from his pack and reached up past Athos's shoulders to tie his hair into place with it, their faces inches away from each other, Athos licking his lip, holding his gaze. 

"Let me get a proper look at you." 

He circled Athos slowly, taking it all in. The Musketeer outfit better suited his— the Athos he'd known but he was built to look good in anything and the fitted nature of the doublet and the way the hose displayed his calves was nothing to sneer at. He reached up to smooth the doublet over Athos's shoulders, like he was checking for fit. He felt as good as he remembered under his hands. 

"It's a little tight across the chest but not too noticeable." He smoothed his hands down Athos's doublet, his sharp intake of breath music to his ears. His hands came to rest firmly at Athos's slim waist. "It's a good fit here and the breeches thankfully hit at the right spot." He circled back behind Athos to check on the drape of the cape. "It's a pity it's not a little longer." It wasn't a pity at all, giving him a fine view of Athos's arse. 

"Where did you get it?" Athos spoke as he circled back round to face him. 

"It's mine. I thought it would be a decent fit on you as you're only a few inches taller than me and they're knee breeches." 

"I'm wearing your clothes?" Athos was now the one stroking the doublet. 

"Not much choice about it. I'd assumed the Comte would have his own suitable clothing with him so I had to make do with what we had to hand."

"What will you be wearing?"

He held up the priest's robes that had been lying across the foot of the bed. "I'm going in with the bishop who's marrying them."

Athos crossed the room quickly, backing him up against the wall, pulling the sheet free and dropping it to the floor. "I prefer what you're wearing now." 

His hands dropped to Aramis's arse and he pulled him in tight against him but he pushed back and punched him. 

"What was that for?" Athos was nursing his jaw.

He wasn't even going to dignify that with a response as he hastily pulled his breeches on. "Because you still have a face that calls out to be punched."

After Athos left, he fell back on his bed, thinking for the millionth time about when it had all gone wrong yet seemed so right. 

*

He'd left the main cabin quietly furious with Athos and unable to spend another minute watching d'Artagnan's Athos-adoring puppy face. Attacking Buckingham possibly wasn't the most foolhardy thing they'd ever attempted but if Athos hadn't given his trust and love so easily to Milady they wouldn't have ever been in this predicament to begin with. Athos had barrelled through his cabin door back then too. 

"What's your problem, Aramis?"

"I never said I had one." He'd thought about pushing past Athos and heading for the deck but didn't trust himself to lay hands on him. Instead he'd kept his back turned to him. 

Of course Athos had never been known for his restraint and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn and face him. "Do you have a better plan?"

"No. All our fates were sealed once you chased after Milady like a lovesick calf." 

Athos punched him. 

He stared up at him from the cabin floor, holding his jaw. "And now you have a lovesick calf of your own."

Athos grabbed him by the front of his doublet, hauling him back to his feet, a little off balance. He punched Athos in the stomach and as he wheezed and folded, he followed up with his own punch, knocking him on his arse. 

"Enough of this." 

He reached out a hand to help Athos to his feet but he pulled instead, dragging him down on top of him and rolling to pin him to the floor, his hands above his head. 

"Get off me." He quickly drew up his knee, connecting with Athos's thigh instead of his crotch as Athos shifted sideways and down, pressing him into the floor with his full weight. 

"Try that again and this could be over before it's begun." Athos kissed him. 

It was nothing more than a hard press of lips but a kiss nonetheless. Athos stared down at him for a moment and then lowered his head again. This time he bit him and Athos reared back, his hands going instinctively to his mouth. While Athos was distracted he grabbed him and rolled, reversing their positions, Athos now pinned to the floor. Whatever his game was, two could play it. He kissed him passionately, sinking his fingers deep into Athos's hair, holding him roughly in the position he wanted, as Athos's mouth opened readily for him. The copper tang from his split lip was distracting until Athos started sucking on his tongue and bucking rhythmically up against his hips, thrusting against his answering erection. 

Athos pushed against his shoulders and he sat back on his knees ready for this madness that had overcome them both to end. Instead, Athos reached for his breeches' laces, hastily undoing them. 

"What are you doing?"

"Writing poetry." The sarcasm in Athos's voice was palpable. "Now fucking help me!"

He fucking helped him. Never let it be said he wasn't prepared to lend a helping hand. Breeches untied, Athos went to wrap his hand around both of their cocks but he pushed it out of the way. 

"What are you—" Athos broke off on a gasp as he got his mouth on him. 

Athos was big, far bigger than he'd realized and as he hardened further on his tongue he had to breathe through his nose not to gag on his cock. He took in as much of it as he could, relaxing his throat, lips stretched wide as he swallowed around him, struggling for breath as Athos spent down his throat, keeping him there though his eyes watered, sucking and licking until Athos couldn't take any more stimulation and pushed him off. 

He rolled on to his back, gasping for air, as Athos's hand closed on his softening cock. "No need."

"I'm flattered." He'd almost forgotten what a smiling Athos looked like, his eyes shining. 

"You should be, I'm not some untried schoolboy."

Athos stood up, pulling him after him and stripping naked before divesting Aramis of his clothing, his hands and mouth wandering freely. He was hard again before Athos had dragged him into the narrow bunk not best suited to two tall men and yet somehow they had managed. 

Athos had padded naked across the room to fetch sweet oil from his bags and talked him through fucking him, something he'd never done with a man before. Athos had been so hot and tight around him he'd felt he might die from the sheer pleasure of it as Athos muttered blasphemous obscenities and pushed back against him, turning his head to kiss him sloppily as he drove into him over and over again, spending deep within his body. 

But what he really remembered happened afterward, the slow caresses and the whispered confessions and promises they'd kissed off each other's lips. 

What a pack of lies they had been.

* 

Under other circumstances, Sceaux's party might have been enjoyable. The wine was excellent, the musicians skilled and the women beautiful. If only he wasn't fixated on Athos. Which, yes, he was supposed to be watching him closely, given their mission. What did it matter that Athos was the tallest man in the room, the most handsome, the most charming as he smiled and danced elegantly with those same beautiful women. So much for his claiming to know nothing of dancing, the smirk directed at him over the head of Athos's current partner all the confirmation he needed. He would have danced himself but it ill befit a man dressed as a priest. 

At the agreed upon hour, Sceaux having left the party with his new bride and the revellers well into their cups, he headed for the north tower where intelligence told them Sceaux kept his most prized possessions. It proved easy, far too easy, no booby traps, no hidden crossbows, just a locked door easily picked and the plans and book in a leather satchel on a table in the middle of the room. He checked under and around the table but finding nothing, picked it up and hurried from the room, Athos hot on his heels. He jumped down the last few stairs, anxious to make good their escape but Athos was not so fortunate. As he hit the last step, a hidden blade pierced his leg, holding him in place as a stone door began to close across the tower entrance. 

"Athos!" He turned to help. 

"Get out of here. It does no good for us both to be trapped and you've got your prize."

His 'prize' was currently skewered but Athos was right about their both being trapped. With a small salute, he made it through the stone door with only inches to spare. 

He dropped the satchel from a window to Porthos who was waiting below and rejoined the party, leaving with the rest of the guests as guardsmen headed for the tower, his only hope Sceaux would want his book back more than he would want Athos dead. 

*

It took two days, two days too many, before they could work out how to get back into the château, Porthos having struck up a friendship with one of the cooks. Unfortunately, it involved entering via the cesspools but at least it put him close to the dungeon. 

There was no guard on the door which surprised him until he looked through the bars. Athos was lying face down on a pile of straw, his exposed back torn to ribbons from whipping, his breathing laboured. It was going to take Sceaux a very long time to die. 

He opened the cell and went to his knees beside him as Athos slowly turned his head toward him. 

"You smell like shit." Athos's grin was weak but he appreciated the effort. 

"And you look like shit so we're even." 

He slowly helped Athos to his feet, taking as much of his weight as Athos would allow and wrapped his cloak tightly around him, sorry that he was causing him more pain but knowing he couldn't leave the wounds exposed as they would have to exit the same way he'd got in. 

It took him what seemed like hours to get Athos to the house in the woods of Mother Agnes, the healer Porthos had found though it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. The old woman nigh on pushed him out of the room, sending him to the river to clean himself up while she set her daughters to gathering herbs. His next attempt to enter was foiled by her request for him to rip linen into strips and the one after with a threat to his balls. His respect for her grew with every rebuff. 

Finally, two hours later, she emerged and announced Athos was asleep and was going to stay that way so he and Porthos better sit down and eat with her family. He did as he was told. 

When he heard Athos weakly calling for him he was ready to rebel but she handed him a bowl of broth for her patient and told him not to linger, sleep being necessary to healing. 

She had cleaned Athos's back and leg wound and covered them in poultices. He was naked apart from a clean cloth draped across his arse, his hair tied up with a strip of leather to keep it off his back. 

He sat down cross legged at the head of the low bed. 

"What's that?" 

"Broth. I was told to feed you."

Athos opened his mouth wide like a baby bird and he spooned some of the broth in. 

"S'good."

Athos grinned widely at him, his dilated pupils almost eclipsing the blue. Whatever Mother Agnes had given him for the pain was working. 

He got Athos to eat all the broth, barely spilling any and got up to leave. 

"Don't go."

"But you need to sleep." 

"Why'd you leave me?"

He shouldn't argue with a sick man. "Your memory is faulty, Athos. You left me."

"When I returned from Lille, you'd left Paris."

"I knew the Musketeers could manage without my services."

"But you left _me_ , just when I thought we'd reached an understanding."

"I shouldn't be talking sense to a man in your condition but perhaps it's easier this way. I thought we understood each other too but then you told me you wouldn't have been able to live with yourself if you'd shot Milady and I could see in your face who you really wanted."

"You saw only what you expected to see."

"And then in Paris, I went to your room and found d'Artagnan naked, waiting for you in your bed."

"Just because he was waiting, didn't mean I was 'coming'." Athos laughed like the deeply inebriated.

"I went to look for you and Porthos told me you'd heard Milady had survived, couldn't wait to get to her and had left Paris right away."

"That's true."

"I for one had meant what I said that night and couldn't face you again after that."

"It was always you. She knew that, could read me like a book, and I had to get to her before she could take out her revenge on you. She was executed in Lilles." Athos gritted his teeth against the pain, stretching out one arm against his protests, to touch his cheek. "Hard choices and sacrifices do not keep you warm at night, Aramis. Life's too damn short. I'm going to retire to my lands after this, if you'll come with me."

He leaned in for a kiss that was little more than a press of lips, all that Athos was up to, but it was a promise of so much more.


End file.
